


Incubi, When You Need It

by Hoodoo



Series: The Bar at the End of the Universe [7]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blink-and-you'll-miss-it mention of Evil Rick, Come Kink, Come as Lube, Comfort Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hardcore, Nightmares, PWP, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, artwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-02-19 00:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You've been having horrible nightmares. Good thing SEAL Team Ricks are there to help you forget. Chapter Two = Artwork!





	1. Chapter 1

You have nightmares. 

They’re hard to remember; mostly it’s just a feeling of helplessness, like you can’t get away. You struggle and fight but you can’t win against it, this nebulous predatory atmosphere of oppression. In your nightmares, your wrist hurts, your head hurts, and you don’t understand what is going on. Sometimes there’s pressure at your groin, and you know you’re being raped.

Alone, you wake up sweaty and scared and dry-mouthed, and afraid to move in case movement is what signals the predator to attack.

This time, you’re woken, still sweaty and scared and dry-mouthed. You kick out, but are wrapped up tightly before you can do any damage.

It found you. It has you.

You try to thrash, try to scream, but a calloused hand clamps over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, sweetcheeks. Baby? Shh—can you hear me?”

Your nightmare never talked before. It takes you a second to realize you’re awake, and Eyepatch is holding you tightly. He doesn’t wear his eyepatch to bed, but that’s who he’ll always be to you.

“Sweetcheeks? Hey—“

With effort, you whisper into his palm, “I’m . . . okay.”

He removes his hand from your mouth. 

“You are most as-assuredly _not_ okay,” he contradicts in a voice that’s as whispered as yours. “You were kickin’ me, and pushin’ against me, and fucking _whimpering.”_

“I’m okay!” you insist.

He’s a Rick. He sees through the lie, and breaks it down systematically as if to convince _you._

“You’re sweating. You’re trembling. You can’t catch your fucking breath, and I already _told_ you you were whimpering,” he whispers next to your ear. It’s a bit severe, making his point, but he sands down the sharp edges as he continues. “I’ve seen you do all that before. I’ve made you sweat and shake and moan, sweetcheeks. But that was from sex, not when you’re sleeping. 

“And you know what? You were fightin’ me while you were sleeping, but now that you’re awake and ‘you’re okay’,”—you hear the finger quotes he makes repeating your words— “you haven’t tried shaking me off. You’re holdin’ on to me tight. You were having a goddamn nightmare. Don’t try to deny it.”

You want to. You want to tell him he’s wrong. You want to pretend it didn’t—and doesn’t—happen. You don’t want to appear weak and needy and _pathetic_ to him. But he’s hit the nail on the head and you can only nod.

He doesn’t gloat over his accurate analysis. He just keeps you close while you try to stop shaking.

“You know I got you, right? You know I’m here.”

You nod again, and pinch your lips together to prevent a sob. You are embarrassingly feeble.

“Shh . . . shh . . .” he soothes.

The mattress shifts.

“What the hell? What’s going on? I’m trying to sleep, and you two are having a little fucking tête-à-tête behind my back?” Mohawk grumps as he flips over to face you.

“Shut up, asshole, she had a nightmare!” Eyepatch chastises. 

Mohawk immediately drops his irritation. He presses close. Caught between the two of them, even in a non-sexual way, makes you feel safe. 

“What I can do, baby girl?” Mohawk asks. 

You only shake your head, concerned that if you try to talk, it’ll just let that sob out.

Eyepatch has gone back to pacifying you with shushings in your ear. Mohawk says, 

“Here, let m-m-me—“

He kisses you. 

You like his kisses; he has never been shy about taking your mouth, but this is softer, sweeter than most times. It’s a ghosting of lips, a promise of something more. You can’t help but give a little hiccup-y gasp and strain towards him a little, and he chuckles. 

“Hmm . . .” he hums into your mouth. “You like that? You want more of that?”

He repeats the tease, just brushing his lips against yours. Nerve endings are set on fire as he adds his tongue to it, sweeping across but barely putting any pressure on your mouth. Automatically your jaw loosens, and he licks inside, a quick, fleeting movement.

You gasp again.

He chuckles again, and behind you, Eyepatch does too. It can be disconcerting to have the same sound, pitch, and tone from both sides, but you’re accustomed to it.

You strain forward again, wanting more from Mohawk. Eyepatch keeps tight against your back, though, holding you against the long line of his body. He stops soothing you with words and sibilants, and starts pressing tiny kisses along your neck and shoulder. He’s more generous with his kissing; you can feel the pressure of his tongue as he makes his way across your body.

Mohawk still doesn’t kiss you deeply. Since you’re mostly immobile, he stays just out of reach and continues tormenting you with light touches.

Once, when he gets almost close enough for you to actually lock lips with him, he whispers, “I wanna fuck you,” directly into your mouth.

Eyepatch’s mouth pauses, then you feel his teeth lock onto you in time with Mohawk’s words.

You cry out. Not from pain, but from lust.

“Lift your leg. Put it over me,” Mohawk says.

With a little shifting—Eyepatch helps—you obey.

Mohawk slips his hand between your legs.

“You never wiped yourself up from earlier, baby,” he tells you, like you didn’t know. His fingers slip easily through your folds and your hips jerk a little in spontaneous response. “Your pussy’s all s-sloppy and wet, just like I like it. You fucked Rick so good—you were on top of him, in his lap, and he told you to come on his cock, remember? Fuck that was hot—“

How could you forget? Earlier this evening when Eyepatch showed up one minute after the Bar closed, he’d portaled you back to your place and there hadn’t been many pre-coital niceties; he’d pulled you against him and tore at your clothing. You’d done the same, working the zippers and buckles of his uniform, desperate for nakedness, wanting it as quickly as possible. He’d pinched and bit you; you’d scratched and licked him, and didn’t make it to the bed. Eyepatch had pulled you to an armless chair and sat down, pulling you over to straddle his thighs.

You dropped onto him, barely any prep, and he filled your pussy, making you both cry out simultaneously at the pleasure.

“Oh shit I wanted this, sweetcheeks,” he groaned, then ordered, “Fuck me. Fuck me _hard_ —fucking hell your cunt’s so tight—christ—“ 

You obeyed. On the balls of your feet, legs spread much more widely than typical to accommodate the chair and not just him, and grasping the back of the chair for balance, you give him what he asks for and you want too. You grind against him, keeping his cock so far inside you occasionally it hurts deep in your belly. 

Maybe he was expecting you to bounce and thrust, but he certainly doesn’t complain about your choice. 

_"Fuuck—_ oh fuck oh yeah, _christ—_ oh shit that’s so good, so good, ah—“

You arched your back and pushed your tits in his face. He grabbed them both, rubbing his mouth between the cleavage he created, and then glanced up at you with his tongue caught between his teeth as you clenched your pussy around him.

He leered and took a nipple into his mouth.

Like completing a circuit, electricity surged through you as you cried out and arched against him more sharply. You also grabbed the back of his head to hold him in place. There’s an odd, pulling noise behind you, but you can’t devote any effort into figuring out what that might be.

 _“Rick!”_ you yelped, “please, oh god, bite harder, _harder—“_

He grinned around the tit in his mouth and complied.

The ache in your nipple balanced the pleasure exploding in your gut, sharpening them both. Your movements atop him became erratic and desperate, and soon, even though you asked for it, you have to wrench his mouth off of you because sometimes he just doesn’t stop.

“Almost, almost—“ you whined.

“That’s right, _good,”_ Rick encouraged hotly. “Oh yeah, you come on my cock, fucking come on my cock—just like that, sweetie, just like fucking _that—“_

Your frantic little pleas became a keening moan as your pleasure peaked and you come as he demanded. Your back arched a final time and you drove your hips into his as hard as they will go, and you can’t see anything or breathe. Suddenly, in the release, you’re crying.

Pussy tightening through your orgasm, Rick gasped unevenly and his grip on your waist pinched. He dropped his head and made an open-mouthed groan so loud it was almost startling. His own pelvis jerked and another abrupt stab of bliss shot through your gut as he emptied himself deep inside you.

His expression, when he was able to pick his head up again, was thunderstruck and loose. You’d never seen him in such a state.

“Fucking _hell,_ s-sweetcheeks,” he gasped. The words were tinged with praise.

You hiccupped and wiped your face, and choked out a laugh. You were shaking so hard your thighs were trembling, and you didn’t quite trust yourself to move off him yet. 

“I’m fif-fifteen minutes late and you two are fucking _done?”_ Rick carped, from behind you.

You twist, and Eyepatch's cock still buried deep created a twinge. Mohawk was there, arms crossed, looking put out.

“Rick!” you said, wiping your face again to remove the residual tears. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I haven’t come _yet,”_ he joked. “Guess I was the lucky one, ‘cause I got to see you both coming. Come on—Rick there’s an old man, you gotta give him a break.”

He helped you up and off Eyepatch, since you were still too weak and shaky. He held you upright, against him, and kissed you even as you apologized and babbled that you didn’t know he was joining you, you would have waited, and now you felt even worse because you were sore and could you make it up to him you promised—

“I know, baby girl,” he’d agreed. “But you’re practically asleep on your feet. We planned to meet you right after your-your shift, and you’re tired. Come on, let’s go to bed. You can make it up to me later—“

And now you’d had that stupid nightmare that felt like something real, like a memory just outside your peripheral vision. His request for later was now, when you were trying to keep a grasp on reality, while he was fingering you. You’re still a bit sore from the deep fucking you’d done with Eyepatch, but Mohawk was gentle, using delicate touches with his hand while he continues to tell you, 

“—it was so fucking _hot,_ you fucking him like that. And you never cleaned up, you’re still dripping with his come, you’re so sopping from it—I love to fuck you when you’re full of come, that’s my _kink,_ baby girl—you’re so wet and filthy and it feels so _good—_ lift your leg a little higher, baby—“ 

His lascivious commentary is interrupted by him shifting his hips and guiding his cock to just the right place, and rolling his pelvis so it slides in just so. His cock opens you up again, making you cry out a little.

“—oh, _f-fuuuuck,_ baby girl—“ he gasps quietly.

Eyepatch behind you drops his hands to your waist and ass, supporting you, helping you stay half draped over his teammate. This is an awkward position, not quite riding him, one leg over him, the other stretched down beside him. There’s only a shifting movement you can make with your hips, no real leverage to thrust against him.

Mohawk has the same problem, except he doesn’t treat it as a problem, He rolls his hips easily, smoothly; he’s unable to put his cock deeply inside you but his simple actions still make you gasp and moan. The position also puts heavy pressure on your clit from his pubic bone, and that results in indescribable pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” he repeats, “oh _fuck,_ oh _fuck—_ you’re so wet, so wet, hear that, baby girl? Hear my cock in your wet pussy? Hear that sloppy sound of my cock sliding in and out? Rick really filled you up, didn’t he, filled you with come, _fucking hell you’re so wet—”_

His dirty talk makes up for the fact that he’s still not fucking you deeply.

You gasp and tremble. Pressed between the two of them, one squeezing you and nuzzling your neck, the other half buried inside you, telling you how much he loves this, makes a hot ember flare in your belly. You want more; you can never get enough of Rick, of Ricks, and you want to both stay exactly where you are, enveloped by them, but you also want clamber over Mohawk so you can feel him more fully inside you, balls’ deep in your pussy, riding him as hard as you did with Eyepatch to watch him fall apart just like they always do to you—

But the two of them don’t let you move much. Sandwiched between them, Mohawk continuing to fluctuate his hips so his cock only moves minutely inside you and Eyepatch just steadying you while kissing and nipping your neck and ear—making you squirm a little, that’s ticklish!—it’s a different kind of intimacy, a slow build that you’d rarely experienced before with Ricks.

Maybe the hardcore fucking earlier primed you for this. Maybe an orgasm would have been inevitable, but it seems to climb higher and higher until, with Mohawk barely in your pussy, you climax, arching against him in a primal need to have him closer, deeper. The shockwaves that ripple though you makes you cry out.

Eyepatch chuckles. The vibration resonates through his chest and he whispers in your ear that you’re a good girl. You shudder.

Mohawk has paused, his eyes closed, a look of concentration tensing his face. His words have stopped, and a thin moan escapes from him. Deliberately, you clench yourself around his cock. His eyes snap open and bore into yours.

“Oh-oh-oh—“ he stutters, and with another tightening of your internal muscles, he groans deeply, grimacing, his hands holding onto you tightly as he orgasms too.

There’s a pause in all activity now, for a moment, then Mohawk groans again, and shifts slightly away from you. You slip your leg off him—Eyepatch helps settle you back more comfortably between the two of them—and everyone seems to take a deep breath.

“Better, sweetcheeks? Nightmare forgotten?” Eyepatch asks.

“Oh. Yeah,” you tell him. It has left residual tracks in your brain, something a little heavier than dreams tend to last, but you’re sure it’s nothing. “You two are amazing.”

Ricks always puff a little in pride when lauded, and these two are no different. There’s a little post-coital swaggering and a little praise for you, especially when you make mention that if they thought your pussy was wet and sloppy _before,_ it’s nothing like now, hint, hint . . .

Mohawk chuckles, tells you he’s an old man so you’re gonna have to give him at least a little time before he goes again, which results in mockery from Eyepatch, and dares in return from his team mate to see if he’s ready to fuck you again— _no?_ You're not? Right, I didn’t _think_ so, _gramps,_ you’re old as dust—

As they continue to badger each other you settle down further between them, sure that you’re not going to have that nightmare again, at least tonight.

_fin._


	2. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commission by sinfully talented [everybery ](http://everybery.tumblr.com/) for this story!


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